Strangers intimately bound together. A jovial man with a beautiful Santa beard read a book. A young lady quietly ate her burger and fries. A teenager rested quietly with her parents. Smiles. Quiet nappers. Men. Women. Young. Old. Rich. Poor. And my wife, Bert!
Strangers bound together by one feared word — cancer. Each sharing the same treatment — chemo. Each with a different future. If our new-found friends were like Bert and I, there were a million places they’d rather have been.
The opening verse of the song “Thank You, Lord” says, “As I thank You Lord for the trials that come my way, in that way I can grow each day as I let You lead. And I thank you Lord for the patience those trials bring. In the process of growing I can learn to care.”
Oh, we’ve seen care! Have a minute?
Bert and IVs don’t get along. The morning of her first chemo infusion we prayed specifically for a successful IV. God sent Michelle to miraculously secure Bert’s IV with a Vein Viewer. Google it! Pretty cool.
My work phone rang one day after Bert’s cancer diagnosis. It was Krista. Oddly enough, our work discussion lead to my telling her about Bert’s health challenges. Then Krista did something that has never happened to me in 35 years of working — she prayed with me on the phone. We talked about God’s goodness in tough times.
Bert and I are State Farm customers. Our new agent called the other day to arrange a new home inspection. Bert agreed, but suggested waiting until she was stronger. A few days later I found a bulky package in our mailbox. Inside were a prayer calendar and journal. A card filled with messages of prayer and support from the entire office staff was included. Strangers now bound together.
Before the word “cancer” entered our lives, Bert and I met a band of angels disguised as nurses at Washington Regional Medical Center. While an army of friends encircled us, there was still pain and a tinge of uncertainty following Bert’s major surgery. In the dark of night and during their hectic schedules, these talented nurses listened, touched, encouraged, and laughed. How they cared is etched in our memory.
No list is complete without the countless number of friends and family that have prayed, laughed, cried and hugged. Sometimes an “I’ll pray for you” seems so trite. Not so. It’s real. It works. Never stop on behalf of those that hurt!
One story haunts me, though.
Bert and I sat waiting for her PET scan. We were surrounded by balding and emaciated folk. An older gentleman cared for his extremely sick wife. She sat blanket-covered in a wheel chair. The Highland Oncology staff wheeled the wife to her lab appointment. The husband remained at arms-reach from me. Nearly in tears. Dejected. Exhausted. Empty. Something in me said, “Go talk to him.” I didn’t.
A few days later I watched the HOG staff and Cancer Hope Resources volunteers moving around Bert’s Chemo Suite. Smiles. Hugs. Listening ears. Encouraging words. Calming fear. Lifting spirits. A roomful of scared, tired and apprehensive people were being served by a roomful of caring servants. Ministers of hope.
I’ve made a commitment . . . To listen. To encourage. To smile. To hug. To ask. To pray. Not because I’m better than the guy sitting next to me in the waiting room, but because I’ve felt the power of unsolicited care. I’ve been lifted up. I’ve been encouraged. I’ve felt the power of strangers, family and friends letting God care through them. Challenge accepted! My prayer is that “in the process of growing I can learn to care.”
Let us not grow weary while doing good, for in due season we shall reap if we do not lose heart. Therefore, as we have opportunity, let us do good to all . . . Galatians 6:9-10